


Stay With Me

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Red Room (Marvel), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Steve thought that he’d finally found himself a safe haven - a reprieve from the constant loneliness he’d become accustomed to ever since he woke up as a man out of time.Then he and Natasha were captured.Now, after secrets that Natasha had never intended to reveal were ripped to the surface without her consent, he has to come to terms with the fact that their pasts are hopelessly intertwined. And he has to figure out if he can still trust her.If he can still trustanything.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 28
Kudos: 166
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Somewhat graphic description of torture/injuries (no worse than cannon). The general awfulness of the Red Room is implied.

Steve wasn’t sure how things had gotten so dire so quickly.

He supposed he should have expected it. Everything good in his life seemed to have been fleeting at best - swept from his grasp far too soon. His mom, Bucky...

Peggy.

Still, when things had started with Natasha, he’d had hope that maybe he’d finally found something that was meant to last.

He’d originally asked her out as a joke - a way to hopefully get her to back off from constantly setting him up with random women.

Much to his surprise, they’d hit it off.

She was familiar in a way that he’d never expected. As he’d gotten to know her better he’d started to realize that it was because she reminded him of Peggy - strong, independent, and fierce in a way that could send men running with their tail tucked between their legs. But she was undeniably her own woman as well.

She was also playful and self-assured. She was gorgeous but also had an inner beauty well beyond her looks.

And on top of all of that, there was a vulnerability about her that she rarely let show, but she’d allowed him a glimpse once or twice. It added to the air of mystery around her that he’d always found intriguing and was starting to become downright fond of.

And yet, they’d been taking it slow. And he was more than all right with that. He wasn’t ready to run full tilt into a serious relationship just yet, and outside of her work, she seemed to approach intimacy with a wary sort of caution. So they’d been keeping it casual, having some fun.

He’d come to love her laugh and her subtle sassiness.

He’d learned that they made amazing partners, both on and off the battlefield.

And, maybe most importantly, he’d realized that he’d finally found someone in the modern era that he could let his guard down around. He had an implicit trust in her that she’d always have his back.

There was no question that he was falling hard.

Which was the only explanation he could come up with for how he’d allowed himself to be distracted enough to be utterly blindsided by their attackers.

They’d just finished a training session with the new recruits. Nat had sent the rest of the team back to the compound to recuperate, under the guise that the two of them still needed to plan the next day’s lesson. In reality, they’d stayed behind for a little bit of alone time.

Privacy wasn’t always guaranteed when you lived with a teenager and an AI who could phase through walls. And they were still trying to keep their budding relationship on the down-low - at least for the time being. He knew that he was looking for things to evolve naturally, without any external pressure. He got the sense that Natasha wanted the same thing.

So they had to find time when they could. And that wasn’t always easy, considering that even when they left the compound, they were both easily recognized by the public. Therefore, it was no surprise that they jumped at whatever chance to get away from it all that they got.

Which was why he was currently indulging Nat by playing a flirty game of cat and mouse with her in the park they’d just been using as a training ground.

She was kicking his butt.

Natasha was masterful at keeping herself hidden. She’d already swung down out of a tree onto his shoulders once, taking him down with a sultry laugh before darting off to find cover once again. He got the sense that she was now trying to lure him toward the large pond at the edge of the wooded area. If she managed to shove him in, he knew she’d find it hilarious. Not to mention the fact that she’d get an absolute kick out of it when he had to explain to Sam why he’d returned to the compound soaking wet.

He wasn’t going to let her win that easily.

Staying within the cover of the tree line, he kept his eyes darting across the canopy above. There was no way he was going to let her get away with using the same tactic twice. He’d never live it down if he did.

Backing up against the base of a large oak, he stilled and just listened, trying to use his enhanced senses to his advantage. He heard footsteps coming from his left, but dismissed them - Natasha would never be that heavy on her feet.

Unless she was trying to trick him.

Turning in that direction, he narrowed his eyes, trying to look for the glint of sunlight glancing off of her flaming red hair - that was something she couldn’t possibly hope to disguise.

A sharp gasp rang out - the noise coming from maybe 50 feet away. He tensed. The sound was out of place... one that he usually only heard from her in the heat of battle. A wave of adrenaline roared through his veins - but then he stopped himself, shaking his head.

He definitely wouldn’t put it past her for it to be another trick.

Cautiously, he took a few measured steps in the direction he was sure the sound had come from, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Then out of nowhere, she appeared - skin as white as a ghost and eyes blown wide. “Steve, look-”

He only had a split second to contemplate her half finished exclamation, before something came down hard on the back of his neck.

Then, once again, slamming into the base of his skull.

The ground was rushing up towards him faster than he could get his arms under him.He felt the sharp sting of something piercing into his skin, tethering into place.

Suddenly, everything was on fire.

Then there was only black.

***

He came to with a splitting headache, like a hammer repeatedly swinging against the inside of his temple. There was a raspy groaning noise coming from somewhere, and he wanted to yell at whoever was making it to shut up.

It took an embarrassingly long time for him to realize that the sound was coming from him.

Opening his eyes felt like scraping coarse sandpaper across his corneas, and wasn’t much help. The room was nearly featureless - drab grey walls and bare cement floors, a single bare incandescent bulb flickering annoyingly in the center of the ceiling.

But it did reveal to him that he wasn’t alone.

“Nat.” With renewed energy, he managed to scramble to his knees before he was pulled back short, the chains he hadn’t noticed encircling his wrists snapping taut.

He was answered with a barely audible moan. She didn’t otherwise move, still curled into the fetal position with her back facing him.

He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. Exhaling heavily, he gave his arms a rough yank, but nothing happened beyond his shoulders jerking painfully in their sockets. He looked back at Natasha’s small form and felt his stomach clench. “Come on Tasha - wake up.”

This time she twitched, followed a few minutes later by a more pronounced jerk. He watched the fingers of her outstretched hand curl against the floor before, all at once, she sat up quickly and scrambled backward until her shoulders hit the wall with a dull thud.

He studied her as she sat there with her chest heaving, her eyes laser focused as they scanned the room. She had an abrasion across her cheek, and the hint of a bruise peeking down from her hairline. As usual, she was trying not to give anything away, but he still picked up on the subtle tightening around her lips and eyes.

She was injured. He just wasn’t sure how severely.

“Where are we?” Her voice was just as raspy as his had been.

He couldn’t give her much more than a shrug. “I’m not even sure what happened.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment before her gaze flickered down to the floor. “There were men in the woods. I don’t know how they got so close...” She squinted for a second, one hand absently coming up to her side. “They wore nondescript uniforms, but their weapons were advanced. They had taser disks,” she shook her head. “I tried to warn you, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

He slumped back against the wall behind him, not liking the hint of shame in her tone. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her eyes pinched, but she didn’t respond.

The silence between them felt heavy, neither one of them speaking until Natasha shifted uncomfortably. He immediately zoned in on how she was leaning into the wall for support, trying to take some of the pressure off of her chest.

His eyebrows furrowed. “How badly are you hurt?” He asked her quietly.

Her features locked down automatically before she seemed to remember who she was talking to, her expression softening. “It’s not awful. Maybe a couple of cracked ribs.” One side of her lips twitched up wryly. “I also might have run into one of their knives but I swear it’s not-“

Before he could admonish her, she cut herself off, screwing up her lips as if she were physically forcing herself to be honest. “It was more of a slash than anything, but it’s pretty deep. Bleeding is already slowing down though...” With a grimace, she finally pulled her hand away from her side.

Even in the dim light, he could see the deep crimson glistening on her palm. Muttering a curse, he instinctively leaned toward her before remembering that he couldn’t get any closer. “ _Jesus_ , Nat-“

Her eyes were still glued to the sticky liquid smudged across her fingers. “Now would be a really good time for you to show those shackles who’s boss Rogers.” Her dry tone tried to convince him that there was nothing to worry about, but he saw through it.

For the first time, he actually examined his bindings more thoroughly. The cuffs were thick - looking almost like the magnicuffs that the Strike team had attempted to use on him back at the Triskelion. Each link of the chain leading to the bolt on the wall was nearly as thick as his thumb. He tried breaking through the metal again, this time straining until his breath left him in a strangled yell.

Still nothing. He needed his shield.

Panting slightly, he banged his head back against the wall, then instantly regretted it as a fresh stab of pain spiked through his skull.

The flicker of distress in her eyes was brief, but it still sent guilt ripping through him. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless.

Fingering the links on her own bindings, Nat pursed her lips. “Well at least it’s not the grossest place I’ve ever been trapped.”

He shook his head, trying desperately to hold fast to his determination. “Keep pressure on that wound while we come up with a Plan B.”

***

It was four days before they had any real interactions with their captors.

Though the pain in his head had improved by that point, he’d still felt impossibly weakened. They hadn’t been given any food - only a bottle of water to split between the two of them each day. With his increased metabolism, he’d worn down quickly. He couldn’t say that Natasha was fairing any better. Her wound had stopped bleeding, but there was no way that she’d been given anywhere near enough fluid to contend with the blood loss.

Somehow, in spite of it all, they’d managed to keep each other’s spirits up, staying steadfast in their belief that they’d find a way out.

Then the beatings had started.

At first they’d been treated fairly equally, the lead interrogator switching off between the two of them whenever he’d get bored with their lack of answers.

It took less than 48 hours for whatever group was holding them to realize that they couldn’t inflict any real lasting damage on Steve. So they’d switched their focus solely to Natasha.

It was killing him.

She took it like the warrior she was. It wasn’t like they had much of a choice - even if they’d wanted to cooperate, they didn’t have the answers these people were looking for.

But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach watching them torture her.

“Where is Nick Fury?” The heavyset man who was their most recent tormentor asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

“She doesn’t know,” Steve muttered through gritted teeth. He was ignored.

Natasha stared up at the brute from under her arched brow. “Have you checked Narnia? I hear the beaches are lovely this time of year.”

The shock baton came down on her thigh again, forcing her entire body to snap rigid against her restraints. Her attacker was unflinching, glaring down at her with a warning glint in his eye. When he appeared to be satisfied, he let the weapon fall back to his side. Natasha was left gasping, the muscles of her neck straining.

Steve couldn’t bear to watch any more. And yet, he forced himself to keep his eyes on her, hoping that she could somehow draw strength from his presence alone.

“How does SHEILD encrypt their files?”

Steve tried not to react. She probably did know the answer to that one. Part of him wished she’d give it up - save herself at least a little bit of pain.

Instead she tilted her head to the side with a small smirk. “ _Иди нахуй_.”

The butt of the weapon slammed across the side of her jaw, whipping her head to the side. She stayed like that for a long moment, before shaking her hair out of her face and spitting blood onto the floor.

The interrogator was still as stoic as ever. “Where is Phil Coulson being hidden?”

Steve’s gut clenched. That one was easy - Coulson was dead. Telling them couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. But if he admitted that aloud, he feared it would just make things worse. They’d know that they could use Natasha’s pain to break him. His jaw tightened.

Nat rolled her eyes. “We done yet boys?”

The staff crackled as the electrified tip was pressed into her throat. She made an odd choking sound, her entire body shaking as her head fell back, eyes rolling upward.

The man didn’t let up.

Steve yanked at his chains, his biceps bulging as he pulled with all of his might. The guards standing by the door eyed him warily, hands moving to rest on their holstered guns.

They didn’t need to. The metal still didn’t so much as groan. Angry tears burned at the bridge of his nose, but he blinked them back. “Fucking stop it!” he shouted, the sound tearing at his vocal cords.

The man looked at him over his shoulder with a cruel twist to his lips. He kept the current flowing for another 30 seconds just to prove a point, before finally letting up.

Natasha went completely limp, her head swinging freely on her neck.

When she didn’t move for over two minutes, the interrogator kicked at her instep. There was no reaction. Steve felt like he was going to be sick.

The man holstered his weapon. “We are done for today,” he stated smoothly, then strutted out of the room without a backward glance.

The guards came forward, still sending nervous glances in Steve’s direction every few seconds. They hoisted Natasha out of the chair she’d been strapped to, then tossed her unconscious body unceremoniously to the floor, her legs sprawling out at awkward angles.

And then they were left alone again.

It took almost half an hour for Natasha to start to come back around. She inhaled a shuddering gasp, her eyes blinking blearily.

Steve waited as patiently as he could, his blood still boiling, while his heart clenched desperately with concern.

Pushing herself up to her elbows, then slowly to her feet, she managed to wobble her way over to him unsteadily before collapsing at his side. Though her wrists were still bound, their captors had started to forgo chaining her to the wall. Even if by some miracle she did manage to escape their cell, she was too weak to get very far. They all knew it.

She eased onto her side and reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. She was trembling. He tightened his grip.

“Something tells me your mother wouldn’t have approved of that kind of language,” she rasped with a tiny quirk of her lips.

Steve just stared. He didn’t understand how she could possibly still be joking at a time like this.

She must have sensed his trepidation, because her expression sobered. “I’ll be okay Steve.”

He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. Freeing his hand, he stroked his fingers through her tangled hair instead. Sweat dotted along her hairline, but it wasn’t a result of the torture. He’d noticed its constant presence over the last couple of days, not to mention her fever-bright eyes. She wasn’t just fighting their captors.

“You need to stop antagonizing them Nat,” he pleaded quietly. He was genuinely afraid of just how much more her battered body could take.

Her thumb stroked over the back of his hand as she rested her head on his thigh. “That’s rich coming from the guy whose catchphrase is literally a taunt against bullies.”

He finally allowed a tear to fall. It landed on his cheek before ambling down to his chin, leaving a tingling path in its wake. “I’m serious Natasha. I-” he struggled for a moment, trying to come up with the right words. “I’m scared. I don’t see how this is going to end.”

She stared up at him with her piercing emerald eyes and he couldn’t take it anymore. His gaze darted down to the floor. “I can’t lose you too,” he whispered, his voice so soft he wasn’t even sure if she could hear it.

He jumped slightly when her knuckle gently brushed the moisture from his skin. Then her chapped lips were pressed against his, their caress soft but undoubtedly passionate.

“I’m right here,” she assured him. He held onto the words like a lifeline.

***

The persistent sense of hope that Steve had been clinging to was dwindling.

Who was he trying to kid - by this point it was little more than a flickering spark.

He hadn’t seen Natasha since a group of men had come for her two days earlier. With each passing moment, he became less optimistic. His strength was nearly gone, he was shaky from the lack of food, and he was so dehydrated that his mouth felt as if it had been glued shut.

If they’d killed her... he felt like it would be the final nail in his coffin.

A door slamming at the end of the hallway pricked at his ears and he painfully lifted his head. No one had come to this part of the building since Natasha’s assailants had left with her. He didn’t know what was coming, but he wasn’t sure it really mattered. He’d fight if he had to, but it wasn’t like he could really adequately prepare himself for an attack.

He tracked the footsteps as they approached - 4 sets and something else that was dragging, scrapping along the rough concrete floor. His brow furrowed, trying to place the sound.

The lock snapping open was so loud that he jumped. Moments later the door opened just wide enough for a body to be shoved through before slamming shut with a resounding bang.

And he was left staring at a heap on the floor, dressed in tattered black leather, features obscured by flaming red hair.

For one heart stopping moment he actually believed she was really dead. Then his eyes caught on the shallow rise and fall of her chest and he exhaled in relief.

“Tasha-” He scrambled to his knees unsteadily, trying to shuffle his way even a little closer.

She managed to lift her head. Steve sucked in a breath. One side of her face was so swollen, she couldn’t even open her eye. The skin was a mottled swirl of deep blues and vibrant violets, the unmarred flesh around it so pale it almost appeared waxy.

He couldn’t do anything but watch as she stiffly pushed herself to her hands and knees then painstakingly slowly crawled toward him in jolting fits and starts. She’d almost made it, when her limbs finally gave out and she collapsed heavily to one side.

She was just close enough that if he strained against his bonds, he could reach her. Hooking a hand around her upper arm, he tugged until he could get a better grip, then - gently as he could - brought her into his lap.

She just groaned quietly, her head lolling back and forth. He smoothed a thumb across the uninjured side of her brow. “Nat...” he choked, his throat feeling thick.

One eye flickered back open. “S’okay. I’s jus a scratch,” she slurred, her lips barely moving.

He tried not to scoff at that. Looping an arm around her shoulders, he brought her closer to rest her head against his chest. “Shh...” he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing tone. With one hand, he cradled her face, his thumb rubbing tiny circles against her cheek. She was burning up, and yet her skin was clammy against his touch. He felt his gut tighten uneasily.

“Don’t feel so good-” she muttered, her forehead wrinkling as her eyes squeezed shut.

He managed to turn her head just in time for her to vomit, clear bile pooling on the floor by his legs. When she was finished, she coughed weakly, twisting in on herself. “S-sorry.”

He just shook his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He brushed some of the sweat slicked hair away from her eyes. She started to shiver, curling in even tighter. He pressed his palm against her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze. “I’m just going to check you over Nat, okay?”

She stared at him for a long moment before her chin dipped in a tiny nod.

Shifting her onto the floor, he was careful to keep her away from the mess. It took some coaxing to get her to lie more flat, but eventually she relented, one hand going to his shin and gripping tight.

He tried to do a head-to-toe assessment, falling back to his decades old first aid training from the Army, but it was hard. He could see next to nothing between the dim light and her ruined uniform. “I just need to-“ he fumbled his words awkwardly, his fingers going to the zipper over her sternum then pausing.

“If you wanted me out of my clothes Rogers, you could have just asked.” She tried for a smirk, but the effect was ruined as she started into another coughing fit.

Still, the little jab and the brief moment of total lucidity gave him at least a small glimmer of hope. He steadied his hand, sliding the zipper down and parting the fabric. Her ribs were so colourful they nearly matched her face. Barely containing a sympathetic hiss, he kept peeling the material back until it caught over her right side. The fabric was stuck over the gash on her abdomen, crusted into the wound. As gently as he could, he pried it free, then couldn’t help but suck in a breath.

The cut was still wide open in places, fresh pus bubbling to the surface. The skin around it was swollen and angry, red tendrils spidering outward before they disappeared under the multitude of other bruises. There was no question the wound was infected - and infected badly.

“That gross, huh?” She was still trying to keep the tone light, but her eyes told a different story. She knew how bad it was.

In that moment, he wished more than anything that he could somehow share the healing ability that the serum had imbued upon him. He knew that she didn’t have a lot of time, and within the confines of their cell, there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Forcing himself to school his features, he eased her uniform closed - she was now shivering in earnest, and though he knew she had a high fever, he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. “It’s going to be okay,” he muttered his reassurance.

Her unusually rheumy green eye narrowed slightly. “Lying doesn’t look good on you Soldier.”

He swallowed drily. There wasn’t any point in more false promises - she would just see through them anyway. His fingers found their way back to her hair, tangling into the matted strands. “Just try to sleep Nat. I’m right here.” It was the same promise she’d used to comfort him.

Rest probably wouldn’t do much, but it couldn’t hurt.

Without hesitation, her eyelashes fluttered closed and she rolled back onto her less injured side with a grimace, her knees pulling in toward her chest. He couldn’t do anything more than watch over her, running his hand up and down her spine in what he hoped was a comforting motion. The only time in his life that he could ever remember feeling this helpless was when Bucky had fallen from the train.

It didn’t take long for her breathing to even out, though the rate was still far too quick for his liking. When he was sure she was unconscious, he began pulling at his cuffs again. It did nothing - the dark metal didn’t even bend. Still, he didn’t stop - straining until sweat burst out across his back and his shoulders felt liable to pop free from their sockets. Wedging a foot in between his wrists, he figured he could try to use it for more leverage, forcing his leg straight as he leaned back-

“ _Яша?..._ ”

He froze.

The sound had been so quiet he convinced himself for a moment that he’d imagined it. Natasha hadn’t stirred. He’d probably just started slipping far enough into dehydration that he’d started to hear things.

He waited a moment longer but -hearing nothing- he braced himself to go back to his original task.

“... _тьі что делаете._..”

The words were muffled to the point that he had no idea what she was saying, but this time he knew for certain that he’d heard them. Slowly, he lowered his hands, then shifted a little closer. “Nat?” he asked warily, unsure of what to expect.

She was silent for several more minutes. Brushing the hair out of her face, he studied her features, trying to ascertain what was going on in her head.

Without warning, her forehead creased, eyelids scrunching tighter.

“ _Яша, пожалуйста..._ ”

Steve frowned. Obviously she was speaking Russian, but there was something off about her voice. It sounded higher... not to mention terrified. Natasha wasn’t one to let her emotion openly show. It was unsettling.

Reaching out, he gently laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to stir her out of whatever dream she was having, if not wake her entirely.

She flinched away as if he’d burned her.

“ _Пожалуйста, не давай им больше причинять мне боль._..”

His gut clenched. His Russian was far from conversational - he only knew how to say a few phrases and pull out words here and there if someone else was speaking. But he understood enough to get the gist of what she was saying - someone had been hurting her.

Something told him that this wasn’t just a dream. Her fever was more than high enough for her to be hallucinating. She was trapped in a memory.

“ _Я не понимяю-_ ”

Her voice cracked and one of her arms flailed out, as if trying to fend off an attacker.

He shifted, taking her by the shoulders and squeezing them lightly. “Nat, it’s okay - it’s just me-“

“ _Останови зто, Солдат!_ ”

It came out as a scream that quickly turned into gut wrenching sobs. Without even stopping to think, he’d pulled her back into his arms, cradling her head against his broad chest. “Shh Tasha, it’s okay - you’re not there,” he whispered into her hair, feeling tears prickle in his own eyes.

He’d literally never seen her like this - not even when she’d been shot. She’d always remained cool and collected. This was-

This was something else.

He didn’t know how to comfort her. He didn’t even know how to wake her up.

All he could do was hold her and pray - that the nightmare would end, that her fever would break... anything.

It didn’t. She continued to thrash in his embrace, mumbling incoherently for what seemed like hours. He understood very little, but he couldn’t help but listen closely anyway. Maybe it was wrong of him - it seemed to be an incredibly painful memory - but with nothing else to distract him, he couldn’t help himself.

One thing that stood out to him was that she kept on repeating the name ‘Yasha’.

Again, Russian wasn’t a language that he was even vaguely comfortable with - but he had met more than a few Soviets during the Second World War... enough to learn some names.

It was a diminutive - a nickname used among friends. It was short for Yakov - which was a Russian equivalent for James.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It probably didn’t. And yet-

There were images he just couldn’t shake from his skull.

Bucky speaking Russian.

Bucky with a bright red star emblazoned on his metal arm.

There was something there, but it didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t. There were too many implications for him to be able to wrap his head around it. It was probably just his mind trying to latch onto something familiar-

He tried to block it out.

“ _Простите_ -”

He massaged at her scalp, shushing her quietly, his lips moving against her clammy forehead.

“ _Я не хотел_ -”

Her slurred speech cut off abruptly into an odd clicking noise.

Time seemed to stand still for one horrible moment.

Then every muscle in her body seemed to go rigid before she started convulsing uncontrollably.

“ _Nat_?” Steve asked frantically, his hand still tangled in her scarlet locks. Her elbow flew back, finding it’s mark beneath his ribs, just before her forehead knocked against his jaw.

She was having a seizure and it wasn’t showing any signs of abating.

As gently as he could, he lowered her to the floor, then rearranged her body, trying to hold her in the recovery position. Her spasming limbs weren’t cooperating. “Nat, come on,” he whispered dejectedly. Still nothing. A cut along her cheek reopened after scraping along the concrete, and started spilling fresh crimson along her pallid skin. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally went still. Too still.

He watched her with baited breath for a moment, dumbstruck, before his fingers flew to her neck - trying to discern a pulse beyond his own trembling.

He couldn’t keep his fingers still enough.

But then his eyes latched onto her chest, seeing the barest rise and fall. The movement was far too shallow and irregular - pausing for intervals that were too long, before catching once again with a quiet gasp. But at least she was still breathing for the time being.

He didn’t know how long that would last.

Fighting to hold in a sob of his own, he lowered himself down at her side, curling around her smaller form. His arms wrapped around her waist, his grip almost possessive. He kissed her ear, then laid his head on the ground, burying his nose in her hair.

He wished more than anything that they had more time - that she was at least lucid enough that he could talk to her, reassure her.

Tell her that he loved her.

Instead he had to settle for staying at her side and just hoping that she knew.

And begging for a miracle.

When it finally came, he’d been lying in the same position for hours - long enough that he believed that _he’d_ started hallucinating too.

The light was too bright, forcing him to squint. When his vision finally adjusted, he could just barely make out a shining red and gold suit.

“Did someone call for a rescue?” Tony asked cockily.

It only took one look at the devastation in Steve’s expression to wipe the arrogant smirk right off of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat is alive I promise!
> 
> I only know a bit of Ukrainian and zero Russian, so if any of these are mistranslated, please forgive me.
> 
>  _“Иди нахуй.”_ \- Go fuck yourself  
>  _“Яша?”_ \- Yasha? (James)  
>  _“... тьі что делаете...”_ \- ...what are you doing...  
>  _“Яша, пожалуйста...”_ \- Yasha, please...  
>  _“Пожалуйста, не давай им больше причинять мне боль...”_ \- Please, don’t let them hurt me anymore...  
>  _“Я не понимяю-“_ \- I don’t understand-  
>  _“Останови зто, Солдат!”_ \- Stop it, Soldat!  
>  _“Простите-”_ \- I’m sorry-  
>  _“Я не хотел-”_ \- I didn’t mean to-
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter, with Steve trying to navigate how Bucky fits into Natasha’s past.
> 
> Let me know what you think by leaving comments and/or kudos! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Things were touch and go for the first few days. When Tony had found them, Natasha was already in septic shock. By the time they’d flown her to the nearest emergency room, her kidneys had shut down and she’d been showing signs of heart failure.

By all accounts she should have died. Steve had snuck in once to see her in the early days and couldn’t believe how true of a statement that was. She’d been ghostly pale, unnaturally still - lifeless.

But Natasha was a fighter. And the fact that they were friends with a billionaire innovator certainly helped. Tony had immediately gotten to work on finding a solution while life support kept her on the cusp of staying among the living. Within 48 hours, he’d come back to the hospital with some form of nanites he’d invented to rebuild her organs from the inside. It was going to be a slow and likely painful process, but Stark had assured him it would work.

All he could really do was wait and hope.

That had started out easier. For the first few days he’d been confined to a hospital bed himself while they’d pumped him full of fluids and nutrients, waiting for him to regain his strength. He’d spent a lot of that time unconscious -his body all but shutting down to essentially focus on healing once he’d finally found himself in a safe environment.

But almost as soon as he was close to being back to his usual self, the restlessness had set in. He couldn’t sit still and do nothing. He also couldn’t help Natasha. That was so far beyond his scope.

Additionally, the HYDRA offshoot that had taken them had already been systemically dismantled by a group of Avengers led by a very vengeful Clint. There was nothing left for Steve to do there either.

Which had left him feeling useless - a state that he truly hadn’t experienced since his youth.

Hours upon hours spent pacing outside of Natasha’s room in the medical bay kept his mind churning. With little else to focus on beyond the fact that he could still potentially lose someone that had come to mean so much to him, that last horrific night had started to replay in his head over and over again like an old film reel.

At first it started out almost masochistic as he analyzed every little thing that he should have done differently.

But then his mind started to latch on to other things. Things that he’d nearly forgotten about. He’d buried how much everything Natasha had been saying while she’d been hallucinating had bothered him. It wasn’t relevant to keeping her alive so he hadn’t had the capacity to spare much thought to it.

But now... that possible connection to Bucky came roaring back. It wouldn’t leave him alone. The thought nagged at him, scratching incessantly at a corner of his brain, refusing to let him rest. The longer the idea had to permeate his thoughts, the more pervasive his conviction that there had to be some kind of connection had become.

Before he’d even realized what he’d been doing, his phone had been in his hand, Maria Hill’s voice echoing in his ear.

He loathed to admit it, but paranoia had set in, eroding his trust. He’d still never ask for her file - that was a line he’d never cross. But HYDRA... the KGB... even the Red Room? They were all fair game.

Agent Hill never questioned it. Within an hour he’d had a tablet in his hand - everything SHEILD had had neatly laid out in front of him. It was a lot of reading, but that was fine - he had nothing but time.

Everything he came across was circumstantial at best, and yet it was still more than enough to sow the seeds of suspicion within him. There was no doubt that HYDRA and the Red Room were connected. They’d shared intelligence, launched joint programs, intertwined themselves in ways he couldn’t even wrap his head around.

There was also no doubt that Buck had spent a significant amount of time in Russia.

The likelihood that they had crossed paths...

Something that had once seemed to be the insane conjecture of a dehydrated and sleep deprived mind suddenly sounded more and more rational.

And yet, at the same time it didn’t. She’d handed him Buck’s file without flinching, not an ounce of nervousness showing through - just a quiet warning that he might not like what he found.

Natasha was good, there was no question... but could she really be that cold? Was she so divorced from emotion that she could completely detach herself from what those lies would do to him?

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that she could deceive him for months, even going so far as starting a relationship with him, while still continuing to withhold something that important from him.

He so badly wanted to believe that he knew her better than that - that what had started between them had been _real_.

But he couldn’t shake it.

_Yasha_... _Soldat_.

He hadn’t made up those words. They’d spilled from her lips freely without any sort of coercion. There was something there.

A light tap on the doorframe caused his jaw to clench involuntarily. Pure exhaustion had made him irritable and he really didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with anything else at the moment. He allowed the file he’d been skimming to fall back to his desk with a light swish then slowly turned his chair, bracing himself.

Tony was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “The doctors have been weening her off of the anesthetic since last night. They say she could wake up anytime. Thought you might want to be there.” Stark’s appearance, and the fact that not even a hint of his usual snark was present, was a testament to just how weary they all were. Steve wasn’t the only one who’d been acutely affected by what had happened.

He just sat there for a moment, unmoving. He knew he wasn’t in the right headspace - not at all. He should be elated at the prospect that she could be making a full recovery. Instead Steve felt wary, withdrawn... even resentful. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

“Cap?” Tony prodded, his brows wrinkled in confusion at his teammate’s lack of reaction.

Steve blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it. “Yeah,” he muttered, pushing himself stiffly to his feet. He followed behind Tony as the billionaire led the way toward the elevators.

Stark muttered their destination to FRIDAY then turned toward the blonde, a guarded look in his eye. “I should warn you Steve...” he trailed off briefly.

The use of his actual first name got his attention. Steve was pretty sure that he could count the number of times that Tony had used it on one hand. Whatever he was about to say had to be pretty serious. He felt the muscles of his shoulders tense, bracing himself.

The lift doors opened, but the older man didn’t move right away, chewing at his bottom lip. After a pregnant pause, Tony relented. “The Doc is pretty optimistic but— Between the high fever, the seizures, the hypoxia from the fact that she was barely breathing by the time she got to the hospital...”

Steve crossed his arms, wishing Stark would quit rambling and just spit out whatever he was tiptoeing around saying.

Tony seemed to take the hint. “There’s a possibility that — Well, that her brain essentially got cooked. She might not be in there anymore.”

He felt like a grenade went off inside his chest.

“Wha-?” He gasped in a breath. “I thought you said-”

Tony’s jaw flexed, his hands going to his hips as he ducked his chin. “The nanites will repair any structural damage but-” He shook his head, his eyes darting to the wall to avoid his friend’s gaze. “Think of it like a computer - If there’s a problem, I can repair or replace the physical parts, but if the hard drive has been wiped, there’s no getting that information back.”

Steve only half understood what any of that analogy meant, but it didn’t take a genius to clue in to the gist of what the inventor was saying. It took him a moment longer, the news slow to process through his mind, but eventually he pulled it together enough to speak. “Her.”

Tony blinked in confusion. “What?”

“She’s not an ‘it’ Tony,” he gritted out.

Stark stared at him for a few minutes before sighing. “Right.” He stepped out of the elevator, motioning Steve through. “Like I said though, that’s just worst case. Cho has spent days pouring over her EEGs and she said even early on there was still brain activity and that’s a good sign.”

Steve was barely listening anymore. They’d entered into the nearly blinding fluorescent lights and sterile white walls of the med bay. There were no distractions left to pull his attention from Natasha’s slight form laying unnaturally still in the center of the room.

The doctors had removed the ventilator - she was finally reliably breathing on her own - but she still looked awful. The bruises on her face had faded but still stained her cheek a ghastly swirl of green and yellow - a stark contrast to the pallid hue of the rest of her skin. Her lips were chapped - cracking where they’d been held open around the ET tube. Her once vibrant crimson hair hung limp along her pillow.

The thought that the woman in front of him might have been reduced to nothing but an empty shell...

He thought he might be sick.

He’d spent days keeping himself away from her, letting himself sink into resentment, over what? A couple of words.

A couple of words he didn’t even have context for.

A couple of words he now knew he might _never get_ context for.

That was so wrong. It wasn’t the behavior of the man his Ma had raised him to be. It wasn’t the behavior of the man that he _wanted_ to be. He should have been there by her side through it all.

Grabbing a chair, he dragged it to the side of the bed and sat down heavily, fishing her hand out from under the sheets. Her skin was cool to the touch, the sensation jarring.

Tony placed a hand on his shoulder. “If anything changes, let FRIDAY know.”

He thought he might have nodded. Stark’s footsteps echoed before slowly fading away.

Steve sat there for a long moment, rubbing small circles into the back of her knuckles with his thumb. Natasha continued to lie perfectly still, the sheets barely even moving with each breath.

Shifting forward, he leaned his elbows onto the mattress by her waist, adjusting his grip so that he held her hand between both of his own, the backs of her knuckles resting against his lips. “You have this Natasha,” he mumbled against her cool skin. “You didn’t get this far just to give up.”

There was still no change. Just the steady drone of soft beeps emitting from the heart monitor.

He hadn’t prayed in a long time - something about experiencing the horrors of a World War, only to wake up 70 years later to see that humans were still committing the same atrocities against one another...

Befriending a Norse deity hadn’t exactly solidified his faith either. He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

But in that moment it didn’t matter. He prayed to whatever higher power was out there to spare her - to let her come back.

He wasn’t sure how long it took - long enough for his muscles to feel stiff after remaining in a cramped up position for so long - but eventually her eyelashes started to flutter delicately against her cheeks. Pressing a kiss against her fingers, he waited.

But nothing happened. Her eyelids stilled once again.

His heart lodged in his throat.

Freeing one hand, he leaned over her, sweeping an errant lock of hair off of her forehead and tucking it gently behind her ear. “Come on Tash,” he whispered. “Show us all how strong you are. I know you’re in there. I _know_ you can do this.”

Still nothing.

He kept his vigil, changing positions every so often, but never leaving his chair. The hours stretched on, his body slouching lower until his head rested on the bed beside her thigh, but still he didn’t leave.

And then, there it was - just the tiniest twitch of her finger against his palm.

“Nat?” He asked quietly, his brow furrowing as he tried to determine whether he’d just imagined it or not.

But then her forehead creased slightly as well, faint lines appearing briefly before smoothing back out. He waited, practically holding his breath, hoping to see if she’d give any other sign. He received none.

Still, it felt like a big enough change that he should say something. Sitting up in his chair, he ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “FRIDAY-?”

“Boss and Dr. Cho are on their way Captain,” the AI informed him politely, the melodic tone of her voice soothing.

He swallowed, running his hand back and forth along her forearm a couple of times.

It didn’t take long for Tony and the doctor to appear. They hovered near the doorway for a few moments before Tony finally spoke. “Did we miss something? Because I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but I’m really not seeing any changes.” His voice was tight, showing his agitation at being given a false sense of hope.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “She moved her hand,” he informed them, refusing to let his gaze leave her face for even a minute, lest he miss something.

His ears were met with a heavy sigh, followed by Tony muttering something under his breath.

Someone touched his shoulder lightly, then Helen Cho’s face was blocking his line of sight as she squatted down at his side. “I know how hard this must be Captain Rogers. I think I speak for everyone when I say I never thought I’d see Agent Romanoff like this. But we need to stay conservative... not allow our hopes to get too high. As the anesthesia wears off, we’re going to start seeing involuntary muscle movements. That’s the way this goes.”

Steve shook his head, his brow wrinkling in confusion. Tony had made it sound like the most likely outcome was that she’d wake up and be fine. That wasn’t the impression the doctor was giving off.

“She reacted to my voice,” he asserted firmly, willing her to change her unspoken prognosis.

The doctor studied his face while biting at the corner of her lip, her expression sad. “Captain-”

He shrugged off her hand, continuing to shake his head resolutely. “No.”

“Even the most basic of organisms react to stimuli. It’s not an indication of higher brain-”

“ _Stop_.” The word came out as a gasp.

At some point, Tony must have made his way closer, because Steve blinked and the other man was leaning his hip against the bed on his other side. “I shouldn’t have lied,” he sounded properly chastened. “But you’ve been pouting in your office for over a week. She deserves to have you here. And I thought maybe— Maybe if she heard your voice... I don’t know.”

Steve squeezed her hand tighter, the bridge of his nose burning.

“I can’t imagine what those two weeks were like, and I wish like hell that I would have gotten there sooner. We shouldn’t even be needing to have this conversation - but we are. You need to face the reality that-”

“Tony _please_ ,” he gritted out. He couldn’t bear to hear him say it.

Leaning further over the bed, Steve pressed his palm to her cheek, his thumb rubbing delicate circles into her skin. “Natasha I-” He whispered to her almost frantically, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear. His words were meant for her only. “ _Please_. You can’t leave me too. I need— I _can’t_ -”

Her features scrunched again, tiny wrinkles appearing near the bridge of her nose and her lips pursing slightly, before smoothing out once more. Steve swallowed thickly, a bitter taste invading the back of his mouth as he started to let the others’ words sink in.

“Is that what you meant when you said she reacted to your voice earlier?” Dr. Cho’s tone had changed, sounding a lot less sure.

Tony scoffed, pushing himself to stand upright. “Doc, don’t.” His exasperation was starting to bleed through into his voice.

But Helen wasn’t listening to him. She stood up, grabbing a tablet that had been sitting near the bed and flipping through screens as her eyes swept across them rapidly.

Steve felt something flutter in his chest. Nodding his head slowly, he rocked back a bit, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two women in the room.

“You can’t tell me that that didn’t look like a coordinated response Tony,” Doctor Cho muttered fiercely.

“It was a facial tic!” Stark argued back, his voice rising slightly higher.

But the spark of hope had reignited within Steve. Setting his jaw in determination, he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed then leaned forward, brushing a light kiss against Natasha’s lips and pressing his forehead against hers.

“I need a sign Nat - something that’ll prove that you’re still with us.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek while he tried to think it over. “I know you’re probably exhausted...” His voice cracked a little so he cleared his throat. “But if you can hear me - I want you to try to squeeze my hand twice. That’s all you need to do to prove Stark wrong - and I know how much you love doing that,” he added with the tiniest of smirks.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t deflate a little bit when there wasn’t a corresponding expression on Natasha’s face, no matter how brief.

His eyes dipped for a moment, the sheets blurring, before coming back up. “Two little squeezes. That’s all I need Natasha. Then you can rest,” he promised her, meaning every word.

The argument behind him had gone silent, the doctor and Tony both seeming to be waiting with bated breath for any kind of reaction.

There was a long pause.

Then one of her fingers pressed into his palm again, the movement barely visible, but still obvious enough. The next attempt took more than a minute to occur and was more of a light tap than anything, but it was all that he needed.

Steve’s lips split into a wide grin as a tear rolled down his cheek. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a long kiss to the back of her wrist, choking back a half-cry half-laugh. “ _Thank you_ ,” he whispered fervently.

“Well I’ll be damned Red,” Tony had made his way back over, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really are still in there.”

Steve fixed him with a halfhearted glare, but there wasn’t any real fire behind it. He was too preoccupied with Natasha.

Dr. Cho was taking her time checking things over once again, adjusting Natasha’s IV line and making note of her vitals in her electronic chart. When she was finished, she smiled at Steve, her eyes alight with a soft glow. “You’re probably in for a bit of a wait, Captain. It’s going to take a while for her to fully regain consciousness. But you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

Steve nodded. It didn’t matter how long it took, he would be there.

It didn’t take long for Tony and the doctor to leave, the calming quiet of the room returning. He settled in, adjusting his unrelenting grip on her hand as he moved back to his chair and found a spot for his feet to rest on the supports of the bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it was good enough.

The evening turned into night, and those hours stretched on too, causing him to doze in and out. Every so often he would find himself jolting awake, his head snapping forward after having fallen back. His eyes would roam the room as he struggled to get his bearings, only to land back on Natasha, the presence of her small hand still a reassuring weight within his, allowing him to calm down.

With the early hours of the morning came an almost imperceptible shift in the air. Steve blinked his eyes back open blearily, only to be met with two gleaming shards of jade staring back at him.

He scrambled upright, tugging his chair closer until he was sitting as close to her as physically possible without climbing onto the bed.

“Hey soldier,” Natasha’s words were more of a rasp than anything. She attempted to swallow, but if the pained crease in her brow was any indication, her throat was too dry. “I’m guessing it’s been a while?”

His chest tightened, words failing him.

She squeezed his fingers weakly. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Surprisingly, a low chuckle rumbled up from deep within him. “I’d gladly wait years Nat - so long as in the end you still came back to me.”

He thought he saw the hint of a blush flare across the tops of her pale cheeks. “Well I’m glad it wasn’t another few decades... you might still look great, but not all of us have been blessed with scientifically enhanced genes.”

Her voice was still quiet and scratchy. Steve could imagine how painful just saying those few words must have been. He forced in a deep breath, trying to calm the electric feeling that seemed to be coursing through his veins, and darted his eyes around the room. “Do you want me to get FRIDAY to page Dr. Cho? I’d give you some water, but I’m not sure if-”

She shook her head, her gaze roaming up to the ceiling. “It can wait.”

That didn’t placate him in the slightest. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek with one hand, sweeping his thumb beneath her eyelashes. “How are you feeling?”

“Achy.” She worried her lips together for a moment before one corner twitched up. “A little cold.”

As soon as the words left her lips, he was standing up, searching the room for a spare blanket. Natasha managed to hook his pinky with two of her fingers before he’d gotten too far.

“Steve,” she admonished him with a breathy chuckle. “It was an invitation.”

He turned back to her to find that she was holding the sheets at her side aloft with her free hand, the light fabric wavering ever so slightly with the effort she was exerting.

He felt himself simultaneously blush and deflate. Toeing off his shoes he hastened his way onto the very edge of the mattress, giving her plenty of room - quite the feat considering the size of his frame. She’d had a multitude of broken ribs and he didn’t know how much Tony’s tech had healed them, if at all. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain.

Natasha didn’t seem to have any of the same reservations. She squirmed her way right into his side, resting her head on the meat of his shoulder, her hand fisting in his shirt.

Her breath tickled across the exposed skin of his neck as he threaded one arm around her back. She felt even smaller than she had when they’d been held captive, and he didn’t know how that was possible.

She shifted against him, getting comfortable, her head tucking beneath his chin. “I’m so tired,” she mumbled, her words slightly slurred.

Lifting his head, he pressed a kiss along her hairline. “Then rest.”

She groaned, but made no move to get up, instead snuggling closer. “Something tells me that’s all I’ve _been_ doing.”

His mouth went dry, his eyes once again stinging. She didn’t know how close she’d come to never waking up. Or maybe she did and was just putting on a brave face as usual. “Your body is still healing, Tasha. You need to give it some time.”

She hummed some sort of response, her face buried in his chest.

He thought she fell asleep pretty quickly after that. She’d stopped fidgeting, laying still and silent, half on top of his side. Using his free hand, he pulled the sheets a little higher, tucking them up over her shoulder, worried that she actually had been cold.

The steady beat of her heart against his ribs acted almost like a metronome, starting to lull him, pulling him down towards the sleep he’d been avoiding for as long as he could remember. His eyelids grew heavy, gradually shrouding the room in darkness.

Just before he finally dropped off, Natasha’s voice drifted to him, as if in a dream. “ _I’m still right here_.”

***

“ _You sly dog_.”

Steve blinked his eyes open with a start, then immediately winced at the harsh brightness of his surroundings.

It took his eyes a minute to adjust, but eventually he was able to zero in on Sam, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. Steve glanced down at Natasha where she was still using his chest as a pillow. Her eyes were closed, face passive - but that didn’t mean much.

He shot his friend a look. “Can this wait?” He asked exasperatedly. “She needs her rest.”

Sam held his hands up, palms out, with a shrug. “Don’t mind me. I’ll get out of your hair.” He took a step back before stopping. “But if you want to keep _this_ ,” He motioned a finger between Steve and Nat, “under wraps, you might want to get a move on. FRIDAY told the rest of the team our favorite spy is awake. You’ve got about t-minus 5 minutes before your secret thing isn’t much of a secret anymore.”

Steve let his head fall back onto the pillow heavily. He wasn’t sure he really cared. Tony obviously already knew. And it would make things a hell of a lot easier in the coming days if they didn’t have to sneak around anymore.

But it ultimately wasn’t a decision for him to make on his own. It also wasn’t something he wanted Nat to have to worry about for the time being.

So, reluctantly he started to shift his way out from underneath her.

Natasha rolled further onto him, effectively pining him in place while pulling the sheets up over her head. “Wilson, didn’t anyone ever tell you to let sleeping women lie?” She rasped.

Sam smirked. “Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes - namely that it’s about dogs.”

Natasha peeked out from under the white material, her eyes narrowed into a glare. “What about trained assassins?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I might take the threat a little more seriously if I believed you were actually capable of sitting up.”

Natasha’s hand flashed out so quickly it was barely even visible. Before the other man had a chance to register what was going on, Steve’s phone was bouncing off of his shoulder with a hard thud. The airman barely managed to catch the device before it crashed to the floor.

Steve blinked. He hadn’t even felt her free the phone from his pocket.

Sam was once again holding his hands up, this time looking a lot more sheepish. “Point taken. I’ll just go tell everyone... that you’re not in the mood for visitors.”

She turned her face back into Steve’s shirt stubbornly. “Buy me 20 minutes,” she muttered.

Sam nodded before placing Steve’s phone on the counter and hastily backing out of the room.

The second he was gone Natasha sagged, her whole body growing heavy as the fight went out of her.

Steve massaged the back of her neck, worry gnawing at his gut. “You don’t need to see them today if you’re not up to it,” he reminded her gently.

Her fingers clenched briefly before deliberately relaxing. “It’s fine.” She rolled stiffly toward her back, one hand coming up and tangling into her greasy hair. Grimacing, she let it fall back down beside her. “I just need a chance to put myself together a little.”

He shook his head. “You’re still recovering. No one is expecting you to have it together right now.”

“I do.” Her answer was simple, succinct.

Steve wanted to argue, try to talk some sense into her, but she was already trying to push herself up on one wobbly arm. With a heavy sigh, he scrambled off of the cot, quickly raising the upper half of the bed to put her into more of a seated position before she could strain herself.

Searching the drawers along one wall, he found one containing some form of personal grooming kit. He came back with a brush in hand, then sat down on the edge of the mattress and began the process of gently detangling her hair.

She bristled. “Steve, I can-”

“Just let me do this, okay? I promise not to hover forever. I just- I need to help... at least until I know for sure that you’re going to be okay.” His voice held the slightest hint of hysteria, like he was begging her to allow him to do just that one small thing for her. Maybe he was.

He could tell that Natasha still wanted to argue, but she managed to hold off. Maybe she was reading into his motive - his need to atone for his absence. She’d always been eerily good at figuring things like that out. Regardless, she settled back against the pillows, the tension in her jaw the only subtle clue as to how much it grated on her to be relying on someone else for such a simple task.

Once he was done with the brush, he set about braiding her hair back from her face - a skill he’d acquired from helping his Ma when the TB had made her too weak to do it herself. By that point, Natasha had finally started to relax.

“Be straight with me - how bad do I look?” She asked him mildly.

He finished off his work by securing it with an elastic over her shoulder, his jaw tight. “A thousand times better than you did at this time yesterday,” he answered her truthfully.

Natasha’s lips parted as her brow furrowed, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted by the sound of the elevator arriving at the end of the corridor.

She kept her gaze focused securely on him, as if to tell him that she wasn’t going to let his reaction slide.

The sound of a heavy tread moving at a fast pace just outside didn’t give him much of a chance to respond. Instead he stood up, hastily putting some space between them before whoever was stomping down the hallway arrived.

Clint came storming into the room, his entire body strung as tight as his bow. “I’m implanting that tracker Natasha - I swear to god,” he bit out curtly as soon as he laid eyes on her.

Nat raised a derisive eyebrow as Steve did his best to fade into the periphery of the room. “No need to overreact, Barton,” her retort lost a lot of its usual sass due to the audible weakness ofher voice.

“ _Overreact_?” Clint threw his hands up in pure consternation. “It’s a miracle you’re even talking to me. They fucking wrote you off as brain dead Tasha!”

Steve bristled. He hadn’t said anything to her about her condition for a reason, and even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have been that blunt.

A hint of shock passed briefly through Natasha’s eyes before she was able to school her features, pulling her mask of indifference solidly back in place. “So? Doesn’t seem to stop them from keeping _you_ around.”

The archer stared at her for a moment, a vein visibly throbbing in his forehead. Then a dark chuckle burst free from his lips. Stepping forward he pulled her into his arms roughly.

Natasha’s quiet hiss of pain grated against Steve’s nerves, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Clint and Nat had always had a strange relationship. He wasn’t about to step into the crossfire unless he had to.

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again. Do you hear me?” Clint whispered fiercely in her ear, his grip on her tight.

Nat shook her head within the small range of movement available to her while she was sandwiched in his embrace. “I’m fine, Clint. I promise.” She pulled away slightly. “You should get back to Laura and the kids.”

The archer helped to ease her back against pillows, this time being a lot more gentle. “Are you kidding me? I’m not allowed to step foot in the house until I’m absolutely certain that there’s zero chance that you’re going to drop dead - the wife’s orders.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Well as you can see, I’m pretty much good as new.”

Barton snorted. “Nice try. You might have even managed to convince me if Steve wasn’t hovering in the corner looking like he’s seconds away from having an aneurysm.”

Steve could feel a rush of heat as his skin reddened in a deep flush. He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest. Neither one of the other two had bothered to even look over at him, so he continued to just stand there, awkwardly observing their exchange.

Clint brushed a few stray hairs behind Nat’s ear almost tenderly, before shifting back into his usual sarcastic demeanour. “Seriously though - you’ve gotta heal up soon. If I miss Nate’s first steps because of this, he’s going by his middle name for the rest of his life.”

Natasha’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What’s his middle name?”

“Pietro. Don’t do that to the poor kid.”

Natasha let out a breathy laugh, and Clint’s lips tugged up on one side in response.

The archer stood up, his eyes roaming the room for a moment, before focusing back on her. “I do have to give Laura an update though. She’ll be thrilled to know that you’re no longer vying for Disney princess status. And it didn’t even take a kiss.” His eyes darted to Steve briefly, as if challenging him to correct his statement.

Steve felt his blush return with a vengeance, but still remained mute.

It didn’t matter. Clint wasn’t interested in giving him the time of day. He squeezed Natasha’s knee through the sheets, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you. You’d better still be bright eyed and bushy tailed when I get here.”

With that, he disappeared back down the hall. They were once again enveloped by silence, only interrupted by the occasional noise emitted by the bedside monitor.

Natasha picked at the sheets by her thigh, her eyes downcast. “So - that would explain why you’ve been treating me like I could shatter into a million pieces at any second.”

Steve sighed, still staying in his position across the room. “How much do you remember?”

She chewed at the inside of her lip, grimacing when the fragile skin gave way and coated the tip of her tongue with coppery liquid. She dabbed at it with the collar of her hospital gown, apparently buying time to formulate exactly what she wanted to say. “A lot of it is... hazy. I was pretty sick those last few days. I’m not sure how much of what I remember is real.” She finally allowed herself to look up at him. “I remember you holding me... trying to assure me that everything was all right and I just needed to rest for a bit.”

Her eyes flashed down once again, expression going carefully blank. “After that I’m not sure. Nothing is concrete until I found you napping at my side with the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He scrubbed a palm against his forehead. “I’m not really sure what to tell you either. I’d rather leave it up to the docs to explain your condition - I’m not very clear on it myself.”

She nodded, still giving off a withdrawn aura. She fidgeted for a moment longer before letting out a long exhale. “I’m sorry Steve.”

His heart stopped for a second, her words causing his mind to inexplicably jump to conclusions about what she could possibly be apologizing for. Did she actually remember more than she was letting on? He searched her face, trying to get a better read, but found nothing.

She reached a hand toward him, and he stepped forward automatically, intertwining their fingers. She started drawing circles across his knuckles with her thumb, her chin tilted down, casting her expression in shadow. “I wish you never had to feel like you’d be left alone again. I can imagine how horrible that must have been.”

He deflated, sliding back onto the mattress at her side. Pulling her in to rest her ear against his chest, he kissed the side of her head. “That isn’t a burden for you to bear Nat.” He whispered to her softly. “There was nothing that you could have done.”

She shifted further onto her side, one leg drawing up over his. “Doesn’t mean the knowledge doesn’t hurt.”

They stayed like that, Steve lightly massaging one hand over her back as she dozed, for the next few hours. He was just starting to drift off himself, when a commotion at the end of the hall snapped him back to attention.

Likewise, Natasha had also gone rigid. She blinked up at him, brushing a featherlight kiss below his ear, before he reluctantly got off of the cot, backing off toward the row of counters on the opposite side of the room and hopping up to take a seat.

Moments later, the rest of the team crowded their way into the room, the group of them barely fitting in amongst all of the equipment.

Wanda made her way over to his side, handing him a tray of food with a soft smile. Almost as if on cue, his stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise. Steve thanked her sheepishly. He’d been so preoccupied, he hadn’t even noticed that he’d gone a full day without eating.

Tony strolled over to the bed, his usual swagger back in full force. “Katniss and the Boy Wonder finally deemed it acceptable that we grace you with our presence.” He reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder lightly with a small grin. “It’s good to see you awake Red.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “For once the feeling might actually be mutual.” Pushing herself up to sit a little taller, she molded her face into a teasing smile. “Where’s mine?” She asked Wanda, inclining her head towards the sandwich that Steve was digging into.

The teen opened her mouth, but was saved from answering by Dr. Cho, who had been the last one to enter. “You get water and Jello. Your stomach hasn’t had to digest anything for a month. You’re not ready for fine dining yet,” she informed her patient, handing her a paper cup with a straw.

Natasha accepted it, taking a slow sip, relief flashing briefly across her face. “Hard ass,” she muttered with her eyes twinkling.

The doctor just shook her head fondly, continuing to check over her charge.

Wanda took up residence in the space that Steve had recently vacated, leaning into Nat’s side. She whispered something into her mentor’s ear and Natasha’s grin broadened.

“I’m just going to go ahead and say it - if that was some kind of ploy to see how we would handle things without you two, your plan was unbelievably stupid. Don’t do it again,” Rhodey chastised them, his tone deadly serious.

“Noted,” Natasha answered him equally soberly. “No more attempting to get captured and killed without express permission.”

If it was meant as a joke, if fell flat - everyone’s emotions still too raw.

“Nat-” Clint admonished before appearing to lose his words.

Wanda was looking at her with a crestfallen expression. That seemed to get through to the assassin a little more, the corners of her mouth softening.

“Seriously,” Sam shook his head. “If not for us, then for him.” He tilted his head in Steve’s direction. “I haven’t seen Cap that torn up since DC.”

Steve’s hand froze with his glass of water half way to his lips. He couldn’t help it, his eyes automatically went straight to Natasha, studying her expression for any change. He didn’t know what he was expecting - maybe that the mention would jog her memory. But Sam’s words didn’t appear to have any notable effect.

At least not on her.

By contrast, Steve was sent spiralling, his thoughts consumed by memories. Completely zoned out from what was happening in the room around him, he was back to over analyzing everything - her slurred words on that concrete floor replaying over and over again in his head until it was all he could think about.

He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, or the one after it either. For all intents and purposes, he could have been alone in his office once again, buried elbow deep in files, what was happening around him only vaguely registering in some far off corner of his consciousness.

Natasha was in and out of it for most of the day, but that didn’t seem to deter her guests. They’d all taken up varying posts around the room, apparently attempting to make up for lost time with their fallen comrade whether she was conscious or not.

It took Dr. Cho coming back that evening and attempting to shoo everyone out for peace to be restored. In the end, Steve was the only one left, still perched on the counter, his mind still miles away from that room.

Natasha had to call his name several times for him to finally snap out of his daze, his eyes slowly coming to a focus on her bemused expression.

“You coming up here or what?” Nat prodded him.

He swallowed thickly, but eventually was able to push off of the wall and slowly make his way over to the bed.

He felt stiff and distant as he laid down at her side, but Natasha didn’t seem to notice - rolling to face him and burying her nose in the crook of his neck with a quiet sigh. Sleep once again came for her quickly, slowing her breathing into a gentle purr after an eventful day.

The same couldn’t be said for him. Steve laid awake the whole night, staring at the ceiling. His mind had travelled right back to that dark place, questioning everything.

She had to have known Bucky. There was no other rational explanation that he could come up with.

But then, for what reason could she have possibly been hiding that from him? Why was she _still_ keeping it hidden?

He couldn’t come up with a single noble motive for her deceit.

Something fluttered uncomfortably behind his sternum making his skin feel too tight. He had to fight to try to keep a calm demeanor, to lay still while every instinct pulled his muscles tighter and tighter.

Eventually Natasha started to stir as morning once again rolled around. He clenched his jaw, taking measured breaths through his nose.

“Mornin’” she mumbled with a soft smile, arching her back and curling her toes as she stretched out.

He just stared at her, his lips slightly parted, but no words coming to him. All he could seem to do was examine her eyes, searching for some trace - anything that would ease his mind. There was nothing - just the same dazzling emerald hue he’d always known.

What lies were they hiding? Just how much didn’t he know about the woman in front of him?

“Steve?” She prodded, her expression tightening, mystified by his continued silence.

He snapped back into himself, his shoulders inching higher by the second. He’d thought he’d be able to do this - to set everything aside at least until she was well enough to have a real conversation.

He’d been wrong.

Giving her shoulder a short squeeze, he shifted to sit up before standing abruptly.

Natasha caught his hand, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he managed to stammer out, before pulling back, her hand falling limply at her side.

Turning on his heel, he hurried from the room, his mind at an absolute war, his stomach churning as if berating him for his weakness. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Certainly not before seeing the flash of hurt across Natasha’s face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so, so sorry. I never intended for it to take months for an update. All I can say is that I got stuck... like really stuck. I’ve never restructured a fic to this extent before. But now you get a couple more chapters so I guess that’s a plus? 
> 
> Hopefully it won’t be anywhere near as long of a wait for the next one.
> 
> I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am for all of the comments and kudos. They brought me back to this when I was super frustrated. I’d certainly appreciate you keeping me motivated by leaving some more 😊


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